


Canoodling

by Avelera



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Demisexual Thorin, Demisexuality, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarves are Demisexual as a Race, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hobbits are promiscuous, Humor, Laketown, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings Ensue, Sexual Inexperience, They totally did it in Lake-town, Touching, Trope Inversion, Virgin Thorin, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 15:26:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5253362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelera/pseuds/Avelera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every hobbit knows that dwarves are voracious lovers. So Bilbo can only assume that Thorin has just been waiting for the opportune time to thoroughly ravage his burglar, who is by no means inexperienced himself. </p><p>This would be news to Thorin, of course, since dwarves don't even feel desire until they fall in love. </p><p>This leads to a slight misunderstanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canoodling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rutobuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rutobuka/gifts).



> First of all, special thanks goes to ALL the lovely betas for this piece: ahiddenkitty, Lferion, airebellah, indigoire, zathuraroy5, and dragonbilbo!
> 
> This fic is dedicated to rutobuka2 in response to a prompt she received for "Top Thorin, first time". Well, so many of those fics out there usually involve dark, experienced Thorin and virgin Bilbo. However, I see no reason why it shouldn't be the other way around ;) I hope you enjoy!

One of the first lessons for being a dwarf in the wide world outside the Mountain was this: Men had very strange ideas about sex. It was always safest to just play along whenever they got to talking about it, and escape at the earliest opportunity.

For instance, their view towards the women of their people. First, that they even had a second “gender” that was defined by such an accident of birth as genitalia. Dwarves blushed to even speak of it, but those blushes often turned to outrage at the thought. Why, it was like claiming the color of one’s eyes determined their station or craft!

Of course there were dwarf women, but that was very simply a matter of dwarves who considered themselves to _be_ women. There was no further discussion or questioning on the matter. A dwarf was a dwarf, first and foremost. The rest was just details, and entirely private as far as any of the children of Mahal were concerned.

The second peculiarity was just how _much_ Men talked about sex. Or had it, for that matter. Certainly a dwarvish warrior loved a bawdy tale as much as the next being, but from the way Men talked, one would think they had it every night! And with more than one partner in a lifetime! Dwarves sang beautiful odes to their lovers-- or ribald, teasing drinking songs meant to embarrass their partners or make them laugh-- but no dwarf ever had more than _one_. To do otherwise would be absurd!

Hobbits, Thorin was beginning to learn, were a great deal more like Men in this respect than he had ever anticipated.

“Now, it’s been quite awhile, so you’ll forgive me if it takes a moment to get ready. I have the oil here, in any case. Would you prefer me on my back or my stomach?” Bilbo was rattling off, sounding as anxious as Thorin felt as he passed the oil flask from hand to hand. Thorin had to wrench his eyes away from the viscous liquid sloshing within.

“ _Nnghn_?” Thorin responded, which came out as more of a disinterested grunt. This appearance may have been reinforced by the way he cast his eyes wildly about their room, as Bilbo frowned to himself, looking disappointed.

“Well if you don’t mind, I think I’d rather look at you than at the pillows,” Bilbo said.

“That would be—” _Nice_ , Thorin was about to say. But then in as calm a manner as Bilbo had pilfered the bottle of oil from the kitchen on their way upstairs, the hobbit began to shed his scarf and coat, moving quickly down to his vest. “Acceptable?” Thorin finished in a strangled tone.

Bilbo gave him a queer look as he paused. “You needn’t sound so enthusiastic. We could very well die tomorrow.”

Well did Thorin know it; for the thought was never far from his mind. It was why he had allowed the other dwarves their revelry instead of sending them to their beds early. It was why he had followed Bilbo away from the banquet in the first place. The wine had brought a flush to both their cheeks when Bilbo leaned in at the Master’s groaning feast tables and whispered that _this was their chance_. The rest of the Company was deep in their cups, and Bilbo’s fingers were warm around the pulse-point of Thorin’s wrist, guiding him away.

They had _canoodled_ up to that point. That was Bilbo’s term, Thorin had no name for it. In his own words they had been… intimate? Courting? All the terms he knew were elevated and formal. The opening of a love affair between dwarves who had chosen one another was a matter of such sighing and song as to make even the craggiest warrior shed a tear.

He and Bilbo had first begun to speak alone after the Carrock, heads inclined in conversation on the road as they walked, in the evening bedding down close to one another by the fire so they could continue their conversation for hours into the night without disturbing the others. It had become habit by Beorn’s, and by the time they had taken shelter under the eaves of Beorn’s house when a summer squall blew through the garden, leaving them both dripping wet. It was the first time Bilbo had wrapped his fingers through Thorin’s and leaned closer, the first time Thorin had looked back at him in wonderment and felt the _pulse_ that the children of Mahal waited for all their lives.

Like many things between he and Bilbo, they began slow at first, then happened altogether at once. Weeks of disdain turned overnight to warm regard at Bilbo’s speech after the Goblin Tunnels, days of conversation turned to sudden realization that afternoon when Thorin realized his heart pounded harder, and his focus was sharper whenever Bilbo inclined his curly head to share a joke or an observation upon the road. And just as quickly the small touches Thorin had grown accustomed to-- had grown to need with a thirst that was as much a part of him as his belly's hunger-- turned to the inevitable pull of gravity between them. It had formed a single conclusion in his mind, and he looked down at Bilbo. Bilbo’s hair was dripping from the rain, his lined face crooked in a half-smile at their circumstances, when Thorin leaned in, and cupped Bilbo’s face as he kissed him.

It felt right, felt natural, just as the nights they now spent in one another’s arms, exchanging kisses and sweeting nothings in the dark, in the few moments of privacy afforded to them on this quest, until they drifted to sleep. As natural as Thorin inclining his head in agreement when Bilbo led him upstairs in the middle of the Master’s party in their honor, their burglar muttering something about their first proper bed in ages, when a niggling question appeared at the back of Thorin’s mind.

A proper bed for _what_?

More canoodling, Thorin hoped, feeling warmth at the collar of his heavy coat. A bed would lend a certain something, a bit of privacy, and the ability to let hands wander over exposed skin without risking the cold. Whither then? He could not say.

“Shall I undress as well?” Thorin hazarded. Nerves dropped Thorin’s voice to a lower register, scratching and husky.

Something about his tone made Bilbo blush and stutter as he said, “A little rude not to, don’t you think? I’m not always sure of your ways, but I should think we at least have the time for a little more than a furtive tumble in the dark.”

Was it rude? Had he been rude all the other times by _not_ undressing? But that did not seem right, or practical. Thorin slept in his armor on the road, and the thought of stripping to nothing where they could so easily be set upon by enemies made his skin crawl even in the relative safety of the bedroom.

It would be… nice, though. The thought brought warmth to the tips of his ears, shrouded as they were by his hair, and Thorin moved slowly. First removing the rich red cloak gifted to him by the Master, then the more humble layers beneath, casting them over the back of a chair as he did so. There were more than a few. He had just made it down to the rust-red linen shirt that lay closest to his skin when he noticed that Bilbo had frozen in the process of undoing a button.

“Well, isn’t that something?” Bilbo murmured, looking dazed. Thorin glanced down at himself, seeing nothing in particular of note besides the half-open gap at his chest. But this did afford him a moment’s stay of execution, so he moved to firmer ground in a desperate bid to buy time. A step brought him within reach, and he cupped Bilbo’s face in both hands before leaning in, a gesture that always seemed to leave the hobbit blushing and pleased. Thorin liked it as well, his fingertips tracing the tips of Bilbo’s ears as he brought their lips together.

Kissing Bilbo was nice, even if it had been strange at first to kiss the lips of a beloved instead of the cheeks or forehead of a family member. Thorin had grown quickly accustomed to it, to this rare and singular touch between them, and to Bilbo moaning at the back of his throat as he tilted his head back to kiss him in return. Thorin bent at the waist, bringing himself down to Bilbo’s level. It seemed only polite, though at times he considered lifting Bilbo into his arms, if only to spare the crick in his own neck, but it did not seem like something Bilbo would appreciate. So he left off, preferring infinitely the moments where they lay side by side and he could kiss not just Bilbo’s lips but the corner of his mouth, his throat and the tips of his ears, and Bilbo touched him in return.

Right now, Bilbo was fumbling at Thorin’s belt. The initial puzzlement quickly shifted to confusion, and a sigh as Bilbo’s fingers brushed against Thorin’s growing arousal.

“Bilbo,” Thorin growled against his lips. “Have a care, unless you intend to finish what you start.”

He meant it as a joke, one of the few that came easily to his lips, as it did between any warriors. Bawdy jokes, teasing and bickering went hand in hand on any battlefield. No one ever took the offer up, that's what made it funny.

But at this Bilbo pulled away completely, though his hands remained on the buckle, brow crinkling at he looked up at Thorin, his lips puffy and red, shining from their kiss so Thorin wanted nothing more than to kiss him again. “Yes, I thought that was rather the point?”

Thorin’s breath froze in his throat. “Is it?” he managed, heat rushing to his cheeks, and lower.

“Well, I thought you had been teasing me quite long enough,” Bilbo said. His hands still held the buckle but no longer moved to open it. He did, however, lean in to ghost a kiss over Thorin’s jaw. “You seemed to have had this planned for awhile, I’m just thankful we had the chance of a bed before the Mountain.”

“I am happy it pleases you,” Thorin said sincerely, even as his mind raced to catch up. Could Bilbo mean…? Surely not. Surely not this soon. “I only thought… your people place such emphasis on propriety?”

“Oh? Oh! That’s very considerate of you, Thorin, thank you,” Bilbo’s grin flashed, startled and pleased. “Dwarves can be such a rough bunch, I’m surprised we made it this far first, and I’m sorry I ever doubted you. You’re quite the gentleman indeed.”

Thorin floundered. He felt as if they were having two different conversations, but he did need to know. “What exactly did you think would happen?”

Bilbo chuckled. “A tumble in a hayloft? A few stolen moments up against a tree in Mirkwood, if we were so lucky?  You dwarves run so hot, with your fighting and quaffing and your wild parties, I was rather astonished it took this long.”

This long? Thorin made a quick calculation, and no matter how he sliced from the first moment either might have felt interest, it was still less than a few months. Dwarven courtships often ran for years before either was so uncouth as to ask if it was possible for them to have children someday. He had been too busy documenting all the hundreds of different ways Bilbo reacted to the touch of his hand, or a kiss, to be thinking so many years ahead. “You hobbits are a great deal less proper than I imagined,” Thorin said, only because it was true.

“Oh, that?” Bilbo scoffed, waving the question away as if it were pipe smoke. “All lies. Anyone who hasn’t done a little experimenting by the time they’re thirty is considered quite dull, even if they never take to it. Though torture would not have a single mister or missus confess that they were anything other than one another’s first, even if we _all_ saw them at their coming of age parties, and that’s even if there was only one partner! Why, Addie Bolger had no less than five! ...But that’s a tale for another day. No one speaks of it, but life in the Shire would be very dull indeed if not for a little canoodling before settling down. Not a patch on what you dwarves get up to, I’m sure.”

“Indeed, I never would have suspected,” Thorin said, though it felt as if his eyebrows were making a bid to reach his hairline. He was beginning to fear that ‘canoodling’ might be a more complex term that he had been led to believe.

“Is that why you’ve been ever so cautious with me?” Bilbo laughed, and kissed the tip of Thorin’s nose. “I had been wondering. They say things about dwarves, you know.”

“Do they?” Thorin growled, bracing himself for whatever that could be, surely they said every other unflattering thing about his people. “That we are ungentle, I suppose?”

“Not in so many words, but one does hear stories about wild dwarven parties, one of which I have now had the dubious privilege of seeing up close in my own home. I can only imagine how those turn out behind closed doors.”

Most likely to a quiet evening in their partner’s bed, Thorin thought, or sleeping off the alcohol under a bench if they had none. Dwarven parties included a great deal of revelry: hearty feasts, endless drinks, wrestling, jokes, and songs, and most were too tired afterwards for anything but their beds. It seemed Bilbo had many curious notions about dwarven life and culture. It would perhaps be wise to resort to the truth before this went any further.

“I confess this, right now, is like nothing I have ever experienced,” Thorin said solemnly.

“Not too dull, I hope?” Bilbo replied. “Come to the bed, then, we’ll make it more to your liking.”

Thorin exhaled, relieved that Bilbo understood without further elaboration that might shame them both. Who knew, with the other races? He already felt he was on unsteady ground, but it seemed to have passed as Bilbo guided him back to the bed, depositing the bottle of oil from his pocket onto the nightstand as he did so. It was a bit of a ways for Bilbo to hop up, but he did so without assistance, sitting on the edge with his bare feet hanging just over the edge, and Thorin knelt beside him. He still wore a single shirt, trousers, thick wool socks and the belt Bilbo had not managed to divest from him. When Bilbo kissed him again, guiding him back to lie on the bed, Thorin followed with a sigh. It was good to be back on this familiar ground, and no longer needing to negotiate the height difference between he and Bilbo. It was no different than their nights curled up side by side in the hay-strewn floor of Beorn’s house, after the rain-drenched kiss in the garden had turned to more tentative touches in the late hours of the night.

“So quiet, I didn’t expect that,” Bilbo quipped, breaking the kiss. Thorin tracked the movement, puzzled, as Bilbo sat up. “If you can be patient just a moment longer, I can be ready before it gets to be too much.”

Thorin would have protested that it was in his people’s nature to be patient, that they could endure long hours of sleeplessness, days without food or drink, endure years without a home— except Bilbo was undoing the last of the buttons on his vest and shucking his shirt in a single easy motion, and just as suddenly Thorin’s mouth was too dry to speak when the trousers followed as soon after.

There was now the very pressing question of whether he was being rude now, still fully clothed, and Bilbo entirely bare. And visibly interested.

Thorin could say much the same for himself, if it were ever such a thing that dwarves talked about within the first few years of a relationship. One part of enduring was the ability to show utmost patience with one’s partner, staying strong, keeping one’s hands to oneself, and resisting the body’s urges until a deep bond was formed…

Not everyone liked it, of course, and not everyone waited. But Thorin had thought, that is, with Bilbo’s fussiness about manners and doilies and being “proper”… it had seemed obvious. Apparently he knew even less of hobbits than even Gandalf had assumed in the wizard's less charitable moments, though not exactly in the way he had expected.

Thorin licked his lips to wet them, not sure where he should look, _if_ he should look. They had bathed together often enough, but in retrospect Bilbo had kept himself hidden most of those occasions, either just around the bend of the river, scrubbing himself down quickly in the shallows and out of sight, or submerged up to his chin and only emerging when Thorin’s back was turned to make a quick beeline for his clothes on the bank. Surely Thorin could be forgiven if Bilbo’s fretfulness about being seen naked had led him to the wrong conclusion.

Was he supposed to do something? Bilbo was watching him, a flush darkening his cheeks, his cock the perfect size to be engulfed by Thorin’s hand as it bent back towards his soft stomach. Thorin swallowed, making a hasty decision. Bilbo clearly expected something, and he knew at least how to take care of his own. Perhaps he should offer to help?

Yet he had barely brushed the skin, soft and warm as velvet drawn taut over steel-- his breath hitching at the sound of Bilbo’s faint gasp-- when Bilbo batted his hand away.

“Oh no, if we start that now I won’t last a minute, and I intend to keep up with that legendary stamina your people have. Though you’re welcome to help, if you’d like.” Now it was Bilbo’s turn to look a trifle uncertain. “Or you could watch?”

Thorin jerked his hand back as if burned, looking back to Bilbo’s face, wondering if it was wrong that he had ever stopped. “I’ll watch,” he said, voice low.

Except he had not the faintest idea what Bilbo was talking about. He seemed ready enough already?

Bilbo lay down with his head at the pillow and reached for the oil he had left on the nightstand, taking out the cork stopper and setting it carefully aside before tipping it out onto his fingers. He rubbed them together experimentally, sniffing once before seeming satisfied. Thorin settled back, his puzzlement only growing. Bilbo had not wished him to touch, and that he understood well enough if he had wanted to oil his cock first. Thorin was not quite so ignorant as to not understand that purpose, and knew that a helping of oil could make pleasuring oneself a slick, sweet experience, though he indulged in it rarely himself. But Bilbo had worried about finishing too quickly, so why…?

Then Bilbo leaned back, took a deep breath, and put his oiled finger inside himself.

Thorin made a strangled sound at the back of his throat as the sight sent a bolt of lust straight to his loins, tightening in his stomach and knocking the breath out of him as if he had been struck.

Bilbo offered him fleeting grin, “Not quite the reaction I was expecting, but I suppose I’ll never be used to the fact you might enjoy the view as well.”

“You’re lovely,” Thorin assured him quickly, his voice rough and he swallowed, pressing the palm of his hand against the painful strain in his trousers. He wondered if he could cast them off before it grew to be too much without taking his eyes away from the sight before him.

“Flatterer,” Bilbo said fondly, then flinched a little as he began to work the finger in and out, saying in a tight voice, “It may take a moment, I haven’t really had a chance lately, but it’s hardly a skill one forgets.”

“ _Nnghn_ ,” Thorin agreed, another grunt that Bilbo seemed to take for far more certainty than he felt. He watched, rapt, as Bilbo began to open himself up, pausing only once to add more oil before returning to his work with two fingers.

Thorin’s lips parted, his breath coming out in harsh pants, blood heating as he watched Bilbo work. Sweat prickled at Bilbo’s brow and he wanted nothing more than to kiss it away, or to lend his own hands to the task. But they suddenly felt clumsy and overlarge, rough tools for such delicate work. What if he hurt Bilbo? What if he did it wrong? He brushed a hand against Bilbo’s thigh, barely there, wondering if he already did too much but Bilbo sighed, eyelids fluttering shut at the touch.

When he added a third finger, Thorin nearly choked on his own tongue.

All the while the sounds Bilbo made-- deep breaths and the occasional ragged gasp-- shot tremors through his body, wracked Thorin as if they were his own. Thorin leaned close, not daring to touch, lying beside Bilbo with his face just inches away, close enough to kiss, looking down the length of Bilbo’s body, the soft curve of his stomach, to the flushed prick, the fingers dipping in and out and could not suppress a whimper of his own, burying face against the pillow to suppress it. The heat in his blood was unbearable, but no less so for how his erection ached.

“In a moment, just a moment,” Bilbo panted breathlessly. “Then I’m all yours.”

Thorin made another sound at the back of his throat, this one closer to a groan. He could not bear it anymore, and sat up to tear off the red shirt and throw it to the side, fumbling at his belt, all the while keeping half an eye on Bilbo’s motion, while Bilbo watched him in return with a dazed grin. The socks were an afterthought, he nearly forgot them in his haste but he was so _hot_ that even the lightest fabric was unbearable. Now undressed, Thorin curled up around Bilbo once more, feeling the heat radiating from their skin, mingling between them in the air.

“Do you still want me on my back?” Bilbo said, a trifle smug as he glanced at Thorin out of the corner of his eye.

Thorin started, rasping with a mouth gone dry, “However you wish. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

“Such a gentleman,” Bilbo murmured fondly, then arched against his own hand with a blissful, “ _Ah_!” that traveled straight to Thorin’s cock and he moaned, pressing up against Bilbo’s thigh, too far gone to wonder anymore if he overstepped himself. He had never been so exposed before another, in such need of another, but the very sight of Bilbo in his pleasure made him tremble, along those same currents that had rung within him like a bell when he had looked down at Bilbo dripping with rain and had known this was the one he had been searching for.

“ _Thorin_ ,” Bilbo breathed, and any such worries flew completely out of Thorin’s head as Bilbo tilted his face to the side and captured his lips, breath hot, lips and teeth hungry and he had no idea where to put his hands, he needed to be everywhere at once, running his fingers along Bilbo’s cheek, to his throat and down his chest, stopping, shuddering at his hips and feeling the motion as Bilbo continued to slide fingers in and out, in and out.

Thorin’s hand shivered, dipping lower, over Bilbo’s forearm, barely there, not wanting to stop him. Never to stop him, just to understand with his hands as well as his eyes. Arm pumping under his fingertips, brushing the wrist, to the fingers and the dampness of the oil when Bilbo arched against him, whispering frantically against Thorin’s lips, “Yes, yes, _now_. Take me.”

Thorin blinked, but permission was given to touch, to take, and so he took another kiss, his hands wandering freely now. Over Bilbo’s arms, his stomach, staying clear of his cock, at least until Bilbo made it clear to him that it was allowed as well. His own ached unbearably as he ground against Bilbo’s thigh, each rub of skin on skin like lightning through his veins, tightening in his belly, and building. His moan was muffled by Bilbo’s lips at the brush of skin, slick with sweat, hot as a forge and Bilbo seemed to respond to every touch, pressing back, carding his free hand through the hair at Thorin’s temples, brushing over his ears, and Thorin mimicked the gesture, brushing the tips of Bilbo’s ears in return.

The hobbit _gasped_ , babbling, “Now, now, please, on top.”

Thorin did not need telling twice, happy to finally receive some guidance. He shifted to cover Bilbo from above, hands on either side of Bilbo’s head, knees bracketing his thighs. Thorin's dark hair fell around them like a veil, blocking out the light until he pushed the heavy strands to the side. Hazel eyes opened, dazed, the pupils blown large as Bilbo looked up at him, lips parted with a look of wonder that sent warmth surging through him. Yes, he was doing this right. With infinite tenderness, Thorin brushed the sweaty strands of Bilbo’s curls from his forehead, tracing down his cheek, brushing over his ears to make Bilbo gasp, before placing the flat of his palm on his chest.

This he had not seen before, Bilbo’s form softened by candlelight. A small patch of hair curled at the center of Bilbo’s chest, utterly unlike dwarven forms, which were usually covered. The feet made up for it, but Thorin found himself fascinated by the curve of Bilbo’s stomach, the line of new muscle at the shoulders and arms, everything so soft and warm. Comfortable and inviting, like coming home.

He scattered kisses where his hand had traveled, because it felt right, because he wanted to, and Bilbo did not protest but rather arched into the touches, giving soft whimpers and moans at the back of his throat, along with a steady stream of, “Please, now, _please_.”

Yet Thorin was lost in touching, feeling strange within his own body, as if he was being reforged in the presence of his beloved to a gentler form, meant for giving and receiving pleasure. He could almost forget the needy ache in his cock, so rapt in how Bilbo responded to each touch. He could take care of it later.

“You’re a dreadful tease, you know that?” Bilbo muttered above him, his neck crooked so he was looking down his chest at Thorin.  

“Then by all means, tell me what you would like,” Thorin said between kisses, and was surprised by Bilbo’s moan of frustration.

“You really are trying to make me beg, aren’t you? I will, you know,” Bilbo said and fell back with a sigh. “ _Please_ , Thorin, I want you inside me before I go mad. I’m not sure how much longer I can last.” Thorin froze, lips inches from Bilbo’s skin. He blinked, beginning to rise, propping himself up on his hands so he was looking down at Bilbo, the end of his hair trailing dark along his arm. “Oh no, no,” Bilbo babbled. “No more, please, I want you, Thorin, I want you so terribly…”

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, cutting the tirade short. Bilbo went immediately somber at Thorin’s tone, despite the flush on his skin and the sweat on his brow and the heat still pulsing between them.

“What?” Bilbo said.

Thorin made a broken sound, feeling altogether wretched, as he finally exclaimed, “I haven’t the _faintest idea_ what you want of me.”

Bilbo stared, and then scrambled upright onto his elbows so their faces were inches apart, his brow drawn together in confusion. “To make love to me?”

“Weren’t we doing that already?” Thorin said, the feeling of wretchedness only growing worse as Bilbo’s eyebrows rose.

“In a manner of speaking, but I always assumed as the leader you would want to be on top, and… wait. Wait a moment.” A look of horror drained the blood from Bilbo’s face. “Thorin, have you not done this before?”

Thorin met his eye and, with all the dignity he could muster, said, “What is _this_?”

 

 

Which is how they found themselves a few minutes later seated side by side, with their feet hanging over the edge of the bed, and Bilbo’s face buried in his hands.

“If you would like us to try again…” Thorin said after a few minutes but Bilbo’s hand shot up, one finger raised to silence him, before it fluttered back to cup his face. A groan issued forth from somewhere behind Bilbo’s hands. His pointed ears had gone distinctly red.

“I will do whatever it is you wish of me, if only you would explain—”

The silencing finger returned, and Thorin quieted once more as Bilbo released another pitiful groan and finally let his hands drop from his face, so red it looked as if it would catch fire. He gave Thorin a despairing look.

“Thorin, have you ever slept with anyone before?”

Context, and a decent familiarity with the world of Men gave him enough clues to understand that Bilbo didn’t simply mean sleeping side by side. “No,” Thorin said, proud of his own firmness on the subject.

Bilbo’s jaw fell open, and he snapped it shut quickly, blinking rapidly as he stared at Thorin as if dazed. “Not your whole life?”

“Not in 195 years, no,” Thorin answered. Bilbo’s mouthed the number to himself, eyes widening further.

“Is that _normal_?” Bilbo gaped.

“Of course it is,” Thorin said patiently, though given Bilbo’s expression he was beginning to wonder. “Bilbo, I have never loved anyone before you.”

“I… goodness, that is, I…” Bilbo looked down, tapping his fingertips together and looking anywhere that was not at Thorin. “That’s… rather lovely, Thorin, I’m not sure what to say, except that I’m not… sure what that has to do with my question? Unless you mean that in the, uh, “other” sense?”

“What other sense?” Thorin said blankly. But Bilbo only blushed harder and Thorin sighed, leaning closer so he could incline their heads together, guiding Bilbo by the shoulders to turn towards him so their foreheads were touching. He could feel the heat coming off Bilbo’s face. “Bilbo, my people love only once.”

“Well _yes,_ everyone _says_ that. No one actually does it,” Bilbo huffed in exasperation. Thorin blinked, and at his continued silence as he mustered his words Bilbo’s face fell. “No one actually does it, right?”

“Only half the Free Peoples of Middle Earth,” Thorin said. “Both the Elves and Durin’s Folk have but one love in their life.”

“But that’s… that’s absurd! There’s no reason you can’t enjoy yourself before then, it doesn’t need to have anything to do with sex!” Bilbo protested, voice growing shrill with incredulity.

“Until we meet our love, we feel no interest, and if they deny us then we simply live without… But this is common knowledge, Bilbo, _how_ can you know so little of dwarves?” Thorin exclaimed.

“I know about dwarves, I’ve read plenty of books!”

“Books written by _my_ people?” Thorin said. How could anyone read a book by dwarven kind and not know about their steadfastness?

Bilbo’s face fell. “Err, no. By elves, mostly, and a few hobbit ethnographers…” Bilbo said. “They had some rather… lascivious ideas about you.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Of course we seem lascivious to _e_ _lves_ , our courtships last less than a century, and our marriages have more than one coupling and child every  _thousand_ years.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, looking rather faint. “Hrm, well, it seems the hobbit writers rather… extrapolated… on those statements…”

“Meaning?” Thorin growled, not so much angry with Bilbo as wondering now what fresh insults elves had written of his people and spread across the lands.

Bilbo’s fingers twisted in his lap. “Oh, just that you’re all considered very… virile. Strong, passionate, ‘fast in friendship and in enmity’ and all that. And, uh…into bed.”

Thorin choked. “And what of hobbits?” he demanded.

“We’re hardly improper!” Bilbo exclaimed. “In fact, we are the most proper people in the land. You cannot begin to tell me that dwarves are really so modest, or that elves weren’t simply making a good appearance in all their writings…” His face fell at Thorin’s continued silence. “Surely?”

“Bilbo, from the sound of it, your people may be the most adventurous I’ve ever come across in that regard,” Thorin said. “Five partners at once? Even Men do not boast that many!”

“But that’s not even all that extreme—!” Bilbo began, before he seemed to realize he was only digging himself deeper, and cleared his throat. “That is, one hardly ever talks about it, and everyone settles down eventually. Well, most hobbits.… Some hobbits….”

“ _All_ dwarves,” Thorin insisted. “At least, those who have found their love. It would be the greatest cruelty to feel that pull without one, and our Maker created us so that we need not suffer when alone.”

“So you have never lain with anyone at all?” Bilbo said, and Thorin was beginning to wonder if he still had water in his ears from the barrels.

“No one save you,” Thorin said firmly.

“Well, I would hardly call that ‘laying’ but…” Bilbo cleared his throat again. At this point it sounded as if something was permanently lodged there. “Thorin, it appears I have been an absolute churl about all of this and I still have not extended to you my apologies. Had I the slightest idea… Perhaps it’s best if we leave off entirely.” He inched away, disentangling himself from Thorin’s grip.

Thorin started, and reached back, clasping both Bilbo’s wrists with his broader hand, arresting his fidgeting motions. “I never said that.”

Bilbo frowned in disbelief. “I made the most unforgivable advances on you, without once asking if this was something you wanted in return. I simply assumed based on some very unkind and untrue words I had read about your people. I’d be surprised if you could forgive me at all.”

“I did want it.” Thorin reached up, guiding Bilbo to face him with his other hand. “I do. All I ask is for guidance.”

Slowly, as if grudging, Bilbo’s expression lightened and he chuckled at himself and shook his head. “So, for once, I am to be the leader?”

“In truth, it would not be the first time,” Thorin said with a smile.

* * *

By their very nature, both dwarves in a marriage were inexperienced when they finally consummated. This was years into the marriage as a matter of course, a slow, methodical process of learning one another’s bodies, understanding the new experience of desire that neither felt until they found each other, and even then rarely immediately. Time was spent dedicated to the study and perfection of this craft, just as it was in any other, with the creation of children (when possible) being the culmination of this very, very long experience. Dwarves were a long-lived race, if not so much so as elves, and there was no reason to rush.

Which is to say, Thorin was now enjoying the extremely singular experience of a dwarf having his first time with a skilled partner.

And Bilbo was _extremely_ skilled.

Thorin’s fingers dug into the pillow behind his head as he thrashed, and Bilbo licked another stripe from base to tip, pausing to tease at the head with his tongue. Pleasure zinged through Thorin’s veins, knocking the breath out of him and he whined, arching his back and thrusting towards Bilbo, silently begging _more, more_.

“What a sight you are,” Bilbo marveled as he lifted his head enough to look down the length of Thorin’s body, admiration shining in his eyes. Thorin craned his neck, just far enough to see Bilbo press a teasing kiss to the side and a shudder ran through him as he fell back with a moan. He squirmed despite himself and ground down against the mattress, his skin on fire and his cheeks burning as another wave of need tightened the muscles in his loins. “Do you like that?”

Thorin tried to answer, but he was panting too hard to form words. He could only nod frantically, and arch as Bilbo took this information with a wicked grin and swallowed him down halfway to the root, working tongue and lips along Thorin’s length so his heels scrabbled against the mattress in desperation.

“I can always do more, if you’d like?” Bilbo said cheekily, breaking off again and his grin went wide when Thorin keened at the loss.

All touching stopped for a moment and Thorin, with some effort, was able to gather the fragments of himself enough to speak, voice low and rough. “More?”

How was that even possible?

“Excellent. All you had to was ask.” With a knowing smirk, Bilbo braced his left hand at the root while the right set to work, wandering Thorin’s body, stopping to tweak his nipples or grab his arse, while that clever tongue went to work against ravaging him senseless. The memory of using his own hand was such a pale shadow by comparison that it was hard to consider it having felt pleasure at all. It was like being in the hands of a skilled musician, one who knew Thorin’s body as well as his most prized instrument, finding just the right place to touch so that his body sparked from one high to the next. Thorin’s fingers twisted in the sheets, as his body burned like he never knew it could. He reached out to grab Bilbo’s hand as it wandered up his side, rubbing flat over his ribs and stopping at his armpit. He trapped it there, and traced his fingertips down Bilbo’s forearm in a desperate, scattered attempt to give something in return.

Bilbo broke away, and Thorin flushed deeper to see the fond smiling playing over his lips, as if he understood exactly what Thorin was trying to do, even if he did not understand himself. “You’re doing wonderfully. Just relax, I have it all in hand.”

It should not have been as calming as it was but the tight, nervous feeling of not _doing enough, not being enough_ faded along with the last tension in his spine, and Thorin melted back against the bed, releasing Bilbo’s hand. For now he could simply trust, and enjoy, but still… “How can I repay you?” Thorin murmured thickly through the muddled haze of lust.

“Had a feeling that might bother you,” Bilbo said, breath fluttering over Thorin’s damp cock as he spoke, and Thorin shivered compulsively. “And I have something in mind that we’ll both enjoy. Now lie back.”

A thrill jolted through Thorin’s veins, tightening in his loins at the promise in those words. Something they’d both enjoy, something within both their grasps, that the more experienced of the two had considered. His last doubts faded, and thus released from them he did not hold back, but whimpered and arched when Bilbo took him in his mouth again, sucking half way down to the root and stroking the rest in firm, even motions that made Thorin swear, and buck, and grind his heels into the mattress. Bilbo’s right hand traced over his stones, fondling and gently stroking them, and Thorin’s vision went _white._

 _“This… this… Bilbo,_ ” Thorin stuttered, unable to tell if he wanted to give instruction or encouragement. He was shaking so hard it was difficult to form words, writhing on the cusp of… something.

Bilbo hummed an acknowledgement, and the vibration shivered through Thorin’s body, then his motions grew faster and there was nothing Thorin could do to master himself, the edge rushing up towards him until all ability to be silent abandoned him too. He teetered on the edge, and turned his head to bite the pillow in a last ditch attempt to muffle his desperate cries as Bilbo’s fingers gripped his hips in encouragement and his whole body seared with pleasure and desperate _need_ as he spilled, mind numb, world blanking.

Thorin came back to himself eventually with a groan, and craned up in time to see Bilbo gently release him and wipe his mouth with every sign of experience, casting a wry look of humor and self-satisfaction down at Thorin. Bilbo’s cheeks were flushed and as he sat up it was clear that his interest yet remained from the bead of pre-come at the tip of his cock. Thorin’s breath came in deep, heavy gasps but still there was a niggle of thought behind it. He should do something now… He reached out to take Bilbo in hand, only for Bilbo to gently push him away and lie down next to him, snuggling against Thorin’s side.

“There’s no rush. Catch your breath first,” Bilbo said, pressing a kiss to Thorin’s frantically beating pulse in his throat, nuzzling his nose against him.

“I should take care of you soon, before…” Thorin murmured back, only to hear a light chuckle from Bilbo.

“Please, I’m hardly a stripling youth. I can wait a few moments until you’ve come down again,” Bilbo said. “I feel tonight should be about you, if for no other reason than to make up for what a dreadful boor I was earlier.”

“It does not have to be,” Thorin said, a memory returning to him that brought with it some of the edge of nervousness he’d felt while Bilbo pleasured him. “Men speak of claiming. If you would like to… with me…”

He didn’t even know what he asked, or how it would be accomplished beyond sketchy details, but one could not frequent as many rough taverns of the world of Men as he had without overhearing things. Talk of claiming, taking, and penetrating, as different from what Bilbo had done for him as night from day.

The breath whooshed out of Bilbo but then he only chuckled. “Oh goodness, that is a tempting offer,” he punctuated his words by nudging up against Thorin’s hip, his cock hot and hard and Thorin did not understand why but the thought sent a zinging pulse through him, and the thought of another round had sudden renewed appeal. “But no, I think we should work up to that a little more steadily, it takes a bit of practice to get the hang of it.”

Thorin sighed, a little disappointed if only because Bilbo’s reaction made it seem something to look forward to, but it was mixed with relief and curiosity. There would be plenty of time for that. His thoughts were no longer so scattered, and his breathing had returned to almost a normal pace. Lethargy dragged at his limbs, but more so the heat of Bilbo beside him dragged at his thoughts and he turned his head to nuzzle back against Bilbo’s curls. “I think I’m ready for whatever it is you have planned.”

“ _Nnnngh_ ,” Bilbo agreed. “Has anyone told you your voice is too lovely for words? But never mind, sit up. There, against the headrest. I was thinking about what you may know and thought this would be a nice starter.”

Thorin had never heard such compliments on his voice, indeed had little idea how to take it, but was happy enough to receive some clear guidance that was so easily managed. He took his place there, legs spread out before him, opening a space between them which Bilbo took as his seat with a contented sigh, and laid his head against Thorin’s shoulder. His curls tickled Thorin’s neck, and his back was warm against Thorin’s chest, his arse against Thorin’s flaccid cock, though at the thought alone he felt a twitch of interest.

“I was thinking you’ve never really touched anyone but yourself. Err, you have touched yourself, right?” Bilbo said, and paused to glance back at Thorin.

“We feel little of desire, but that does not mean we feel nothing at all,” Thorin assured him with a snort.

“Oh good, so you know how to handle your… sword,” Bilbo said. Thorin looked down at something that sounded suspiciously like a cough and saw Bilbo snickering.

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know how to handle it.”

“Then you can handle mine?”

“ _What_?”

Bilbo was looking up at him. “Or I can simply tend to myself, and you can watch. But I thought we’d start slow. You can touch as if it were yourself,” the last came out breathless. “Would you like that?”

Thorin’s eyes widened as he saw in his mind a flash of his larger hands trailing over Bilbo’s body, taking him in hand. He imagined Bilbo whimpering, and grinding against him at the touch as Thorin had only a moment before under his mouth. He swallowed, and nodded.

Dwarven hands were skillful, but no dwarf was born a master of their craft. Rather they spent decades in apprenticeships, being taught by those more experienced than themselves. He felt now as if Bilbo was the master, and he being asked to give his first demonstration after only a single lesson. This new skill loomed before him as nothing had in decades: how to please, how to receive pleasure now that he had felt it?

But no, Bilbo had thought of this, and had given him a way to ply his own rough experience, and set him on firmer ground. So Thorin allowed his hands to travel, touching as he had been touched, for surely that was what Bilbo must like in return?

Thorin pressed his lips to Bilbo’s shoulder as Bilbo moaned and pressed against him, and his brow furrowed in concentration. His hands were rough with calluses and fine, silvery scars of burns from the forge and cuts from fighting. They seemed out of place on Bilbo’s body, where only a small patch of hair on his chest and the thick coating on his feet broke up the smoothness of his skin. It made Thorin’s hands feel too large and rough, like fresh-hewn stone dragged over polished marble, easily leaving a mark with carelessness. Heat coiled in Thorin's belly, and a blush spread to his cheeks as he began to stroke his fingertips in circles around Bilbo’s sides.

It was lovely. A word he associated with Bilbo and his fussy, proper language. But _lovely_ was the only way to describe it; the softness of his skin under Thorin’s hand, how each breath and shiver was augmented by touch. But this time, mindful of Bilbo’s complaints of teasing, he went down sooner, and tentatively took Bilbo’s length in hand.

Bilbo sighed, and ground back against Thorin’s pelvis, urging him on, and he swallowed at a fresh surge of heat through his veins even as he set his hand to the steady, careful task of bringing Bilbo back to full hardness. It fit nicely in his hand, as if meant for his touch, though he dared not be so rough yet as he would be on himself, when the only purpose was to relieve pent up tension as quickly and silently as possible.

“Oh, Thorin, Thorin, yes, that’s good,” Bilbo murmured, and turned his head to bury his face against Thorin’s neck, his breathing going deeper and more ragged with each stroke. Encouraged, Thorin tried a little faster, and tightened his grip, rubbing the foreskin up and down Bilbo’s length and watching as his toes curled as the pace picked up. Thorin even dared let his other hand wander as Bilbo’s had while he used his mouth, drifting over his chest, thumbing the nipples and scraping with short fingernails lightly along his skin. His reward was when Bilbo began to pant, hips moving in time with Thorin’s stroking.

“I love watching you,” Thorin murmured, speaking as the words drifted in his mind, deep and low in Bilbo’s ear. “Thank you for this.” His lips trailed over Bilbo’s earlobe, pressing a kiss with the nibble of teeth and flicker of tongue.

Bilbo gasped, and arched, hands fluttering at Thorin’s over his chest and he grabbed Thorin’s broader arm and clung as his hips bucked and jerked and he spilled over his body. Thorin acted on instinct, cupping his hand over the tip to guide it back over Bilbo’s belly, and it was hot and wet in his hand as he pulled Bilbo through the final pulses. Bilbo whimpered at the back of his throat, body hot as he nudged up against Thorin, his breathing hoarse. He shivered and spasmed once more, then lay still, melting against Thorin’s chest.

“Was it well done?” Thorin said, anxious concern mixing with an attempt to remind himself that he had at least brought Bilbo to climax, and so soon. It could not be called a complete failure.

“Mmm, after watching you, a feather would have been enough to push me over,” Bilbo said, and before Thorin’s face could begin to fall, he continued, “But I do believe you are a natural.”

It was well that Bilbo’s back was against him, so he could not see the frankly silly grin that bloomed over Thorin’s features as he pressed his face against Bilbo’s hair, pride surging bright and warm within him. Thorin could not resist kissing Bilbo’s curls, and bringing his arms up to hug him against his chest, though Bilbo squawked in alarm and squirmed.

“Ugh, we will both need a bath after this,” Bilbo groaned, and only then did Thorin recall that his hand was still wet from Bilbo’s spend, and now pressed to Bilbo’s shoulder.

Thorin snorted, “Hardly the worst filth we’ve tolerated on our journey, and certainly the most pleasantly gained.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a complaint,” Bilbo said, then turned in Thorin’s arms so he was kneeling facing him. He punctuated the movement with a kiss, and Thorin started at his own musky, salty taste on Bilbo’s lips. “All right, maybe a little. But it just means I get the chance to teach you to one of life’s greatest pleasures: the fun that can be had in a hot bath, and after.”

“Then I will be an eager student,” Thorin said, and grinned against Bilbo’s lips as they kissed.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has an illustration by the lovely nastyrutobuka, you can find it [here](http://nastyrutobuka.tumblr.com/post/133630498945/a-little-illustration-for)!
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you liked this, you should go check out nastyrutobuka's art on Tumblr and come over to say hi on my blog! (URL: Avelera)
> 
> If you would like an alert for when I publish original novels and short stories, you can sign up [here](http://eepurl.com/dnzuV1).
> 
> Also, **I would absolutely love to hear your comments and feedback.** Many days of work and editing went into this piece, so it's really nice to hear something in return for the effort ^_^ Thank you!


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